


From Foulest Fen

by vgsfshade6116



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 11:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7313692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vgsfshade6116/pseuds/vgsfshade6116
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sauron is not the only evil lurking in Middle Earth. There are other wicked servants of Morgoth still hidden in the land, working their own twisted magic on those unlucky enough to catch their attention...This is the tale of one such unfortunate village...</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Foulest Fen

There are many villages throughout Middle-Earth. Small and scattered, more often than not they played little part in the grand legends and tales of the land, other than being the unfortunate victims of orc attacks. They were wholly ordinary, and as such were beneath notice to the rest of the world.

  
Dundee was one such village, with many similarities to its fellows. Quiet and sleepy, its inhabitants eked out an existence that came with the usual troubles of a small town. The only thing that was especially notable about Dundee was that there was a swamp some distance away. Parents forbade their children from going near it, so of course children played in it often, coming back covered in muck and carrying frogs and other slimy things in their shirts. It did bring swarms of mosquitoes during the summer, but other than that the villagers paid little mind to it.

  
But then things had started to change. Many hadn’t noticed at first, but they eventually realized that the swamp was growing larger. Its trees were growing taller and more twisted, preventing light from reaching the already dark interior. People whispered worriedly, but other than the expanding borders, the mire seemed quiet. Eventually the whispers stopped, though people did throw nervous glances in the direction of the bog.

  
Then the smell came. The swamp didn’t smell pleasant before, but this new odor was in a league all its own. It was a horrid, putrid stench. It was the smell of something that had died and was rotting away, yet refused to return to the earth. It was the smell of an open wound left to fester in the sun. It was so strong that even though the village was more than half a mile away, the villagers could still smell it every time they left their houses.

  
One day the smell got even worse. After some searching, it was found that the smell was coming from Godfrey’s house. An animal had crawled under it and died. It was difficult to tell exactly what it was because its proportions were unlike any other creature they had ever seen. Behind one leg, there was a growth that looked like a new one had been forming. The expression on its face was one of pain and fear. The thing was quickly disposed of, set aflame and its ashes scattered far away from the village.

  
By now the swamp could easily be seen from the village, dark and foreboding, its trees towering over their homes, and still emanating that awful, awful, smell. At night, livestock would scream in terror, and when the farmers came to investigate, their animals would be gone, a trail of blood leading to the foul fen. A sense of dread enveloped the village as they wondered what new misfortunes would befall them. Everyone was close to panicking.

  
The men declared that it was clear that the swamp was an evil place now, and gathered together to destroy it. They went into it, carrying axes and shovels and other tools for tearing the place down. None of them came out again. A search party was sent in a few days later to find any trace of them. What they managed to find was a single body, the head gone, as well as the skin on some areas. But the body was not too deep inside the swamp, as though it had been deliberately left there by someone.

  
Stuffed inside one of the pockets was a journal. It was waterlogged and caked with mud, but the last entries were legible enough, to tell the tale of what had happened to those unlucky men:

 

_We weren’t supposed to get lost. But somehow we did. Like something…turned us around._

  
_We don’t have much food with us, on account of us thinking we wouldn’t get stuck out here. Farley and Malcolm are out hunting in this Valar-forsaken place. Hopefully they come back with something, we’re in deep enough shit as is._

  
_This place is so wet, it’s hard to get a decent fire going. Trudging through the muck is miserable too, not least because our socks can never get dry. The water’s waist-deep in some places. And filled with a shitton of leeches too. I’ve lost count of how many I’ve pulled off of myself. And they aren’t the only bloodsuckers around. The mosquito swarms are so huge they’re practically black clouds. We have to keep smacking ourselves to keep them off, and they aren’t letting up. I itch so much, it’s hellish._

  
_Right now I’m on night watch. I’m writing by the light of my lantern, but it doesn’t help much against the fog. It’s so thick that I can barely see past my nose. But I keep on seeing shapes in the mist, all the same…right in the corner of my eye, but every time I try to get a closer look they dart out of sight._

  
_…We need to get out here. The sooner, the better._

  
_-_

  
_It feels like we’re only getting more and more lost as the days go by. This place twists and turns, and the mist ain’t helping. Wouldn’t be so bad if this place were quiet. Instead, noises everywhere, every waking moment. Makes it hard to sleep, wondering if anything’s going to come out of the fog and try to eat us. I’m still seeing things in the distance too, they run off if we try to approach them. Feels like they’re waiting for something._

  
_Things aren’t just lurking in the mist. We’ve passed over several large bodies of water, and I saw huge shapes in them. Huger than the ones on land. No doubt hungry like we are…_  
_We had to move on to rationing our supplies as best as we could. Everything we tried to eat tasted rancid, and even the smallest of tastes had us vomiting for hours. Not helping that was the swamp smell. It seems like it’s getting worse._

  
_The mosquitoes are persistent as ever. We’re all covered in their bites and they itch like crazy. Charley in particular won’t stop moaning about it no matter how much we tell him to shut up._

_-_

_Oh Valar, nearly everyone is dead._

_It was so sudden. We were trekking for anything edible in this wretched place when the ground just…exploded. Farley started screaming, and I saw that some giant…thing had him in its jaws. We all panicked and ran in different directions. It was cowardly, I know, but this place has been beating us down for…days? Weeks? Months? Valar, I’ve lost track of time out here._

_I think the things tailing us were waiting for a chance like this, because I heard roaring and screaming. I found a place to hide, and waited out the screaming. When they finally stopped, I came out and looked for anyone who was still alive. There was so much blood…_

_I found Charley, still scratching himself. He’s practically covered in red patches by now. I also found Malcolm, after he nearly fired an arrow into me._  
_We’re going to continue trying to get out of here, even though it looks pretty hopeless at this point._

_-_

_The deeper we go in this place, the weirder it gets. The trees, they somehow seem…fleshy. They don’t look or feel like bark. They’re warm and soft. Once, I think I saw an eye open on one and look at me. I really hope I was seeing things there._

_There’s also a ton of mushrooms. Lots of different kinds too. Some aren’t all that big, but others are huge, almost as big as the trees. They glow too, bright enough to be seen through all this damn fog. We tried cutting pieces off of them to use as a light source, but those stopped glowing. Malcolm harvested some of the smaller ones and cooked them. They’re actually edible, thank the Valar. They’re a bit too rubbery for my taste. I’ve never liked mushrooms much either. They grow from dead things. Still, anything that’ll help us live a little longer out here. Plus, Malcolm doesn’t seem to mind a mushroom diet much. In fact, he’s practically gorging himself on them._

_-_

_I’m the only one left. And my time is running out too._

_Charley was scratching himself as always, even though his skin looked worse than ever. I was about to tell him to quit it when I saw strips of his skin just peeled off with his scratches. There was so much blood, I could see the rawness of his flesh…_

_I tried to get him to stop, but he kept on scratching even as he tore his skin off. I tried to stop the bleeding with some makeshift bandages, but they got soaked very fast. Malcolm had gone off to try and find more food, so I rushed off to find him._

_I found this…thing. I thought it was a huge gray sponge at first. It had these pulsing bumps on it. It was rooted to the ground, spreading its tendrils through it. It was wearing what Malcolm had been. It even had his pack._

_I ran back to where I had left Charley, but there was someone already there. Upon seeing it, a wave of fear just came over me, so I hid and watched it._

_It was tall, taller than any normal man. It was like a vulture twisted into a man’s shape, with a pitch black body and shining blue eyes. It was just standing there, over Charley’s body, head tilted to the side, like it was curious about what was happening to him. Just looking at it, I knew. I knew that the thing was responsible for this place being the hellhole it is._

_Then it turned and looked right at me. I ran away, as far away as I could from that evil thing. I know it’s coming after me, and even if it doesn’t catch me, I ate the same mushrooms Malcolm did. Now, the only thing I can do is pray for a miracle._

  
Today the swamp practically borders the town. The townspeople are constantly beset by terrible sickness, miserable but not merciful enough to bring death quickly. A palpable atmosphere of fear hangs over the town, its people throwing hateful glances towards it, but never daring to disturb it. None wanted to risk drawing the attention of its master, after all. And though many wished to leave, flee from that place of evil...something kept them there. Some power that had wound itself in their minds.

Once, ghost stories were told of that swamp in the village of Dundee. These are told no longer, for the reality was far more terrible than any tale could hope to be.


End file.
